


Grasshopper

by TheMagicMeep



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Action, Family Fluff, Gen, Sibling Bonding, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-08
Updated: 2014-08-08
Packaged: 2018-02-12 09:11:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2103906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMagicMeep/pseuds/TheMagicMeep
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scotland has a unpleasant job to do. Ireland helps her out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grasshopper

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kimanda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kimanda/gifts).



> This is a very late birthday present for Kim who asked for Scotland and Ireland with just a dash of the supernatural. 
> 
> Its probably not what you expected but I hope you like it Kimmy!

“Are we doing this?” Scotland asked her voice low and shoulders tense in the gloom, “Because if we are we might wanna think about hurrying the fuck up”.

Ireland shifted on his haunches as he shot a glance up at his sister, “careful,” he drawled “I’m beginning to think you’re getting jumpy in your old age”.

 _“My_ auld age?”

“We’re hunting a rouge Kelpie, it doesn’t pay to be too blasé about it,” he continued as though he hadn’t heard her “especially if you’re like me and are fond of your entrails _where they are_ ”. 

Scotland huffed, settling back against a conveniently placed rock to sweep her sodden hair back into its ponytail. She didn’t even seem to notice as the wind threw yet another curtain of freezing rain at them. Ireland on the other hand sneakily tried to rub some warmth back into his hands.

Unfortunately for him his sister noticed, “I was just going to say that it’s getting a wee bit nippy for old bones like yours” Scotland said, all mock concern as she shot him a sly look out of the corner of her eye.

“I’ll survive,” Ireland grunted trying not to wince as the water dripped from his hair, under the collar of his coat and down his spine. Just because he was used to this shit didn’t mean he liked it, Scotland however seemed irritatingly unbothered by her soaking wet hair or the frozen puffs of their breath.

At least her cheeks were slightly red, he told himself, it was some proof that she actually _felt_ the cold.  

A gust of wind lifted a stray red curl and Scotland raised her head, like a wolf scenting her prey. Ireland wrapped his arms about himself for a second breathing in the cold, clean air, tinged with the far distant sea and just a hint of the supernatural. For a second, a long beautiful second he could almost be home.

But reality soon came rushing back and for all their similarities he and Scotland were still so _different_. The land under his feet and the air in his lungs was cold and he shifted restlessly on the balls of his feet as he tried to dispel the feeling of _not belonging_. He wondered if the others felt it as he did the itching feeling of being _wrong,_ of not being part of the land he was standing on. Or maybe Scotland was right and he was just overly sensitive.   

He watched as Scotland got to her feet with a single fluid movement, her green eyes focused across the dark, still glen. She barely spared him a glance as she strode past, “this way”. 

Ireland followed along behind her, careful not to slip on the soggy earth or slippery rock while Scotland jogged ahead of him as surefooted as a mountain goat. A branch slapped him in the face and a hidden bog managed to sweep freezing, muddy water into his boots. Ireland was forcibly reminded of exactly how much he _loathed_ hiking.

Nature was all well and good when it wasn’t in his boots.

“It’s just over here!” called Scotland brightly, bounding up a rocky rise and climbing over a pile of rocks all while looking disgustingly energetic.  As he scrambled up the slope after her Ireland irritably wondered if she would love nature quite as much after he’d thrown her into her own Loch.

His mood didn’t improve when he finally reached the summit only to find Scotland regarding him critically with a hand resting on her hip, “Christ, you’ve let yourself go”.

“Why thank you,” Ireland groaned, rolling over onto his back, not even caring about the water soaking into his back, “you’re such a wonderful boost to my self-confidence”.

Her lips twitched, “you alright then?”

“Fucking fantastic,” he wheezed, rolling his eyes, “I lie on soaking hillsides for fun now I thought you knew”.

Scotland nudged him with the toe of her sturdy, walking boot, “if you die there I’m just gonna leave you,” she informed him “as a warning to others”.

“You’re all heart _Alba_.”

She just laughed and Ireland got to his feet before she could mock him further. He chose to ignore the fact his coat wasn’t quite as waterproof as it had claimed, he didn’t need to give Scotland any more ammunition especially as she was adept at finding it herself.

He blew out a sigh, “right, how much further?”

Scotland wandered over to stand beside him and he tried not to loom over her too much, she got really snappy if he did that and Ireland wasn’t in the mood to deal with an irate Scotland as well as everything else.

“See that Loch?” she asked, gesturing down the hillside, “it’s there somewhere”.

Ireland nodded, considering the moonlight playing across the still water. “You’ve got it?” he asked quietly.

Scotland nodded jerkily, “In the bag, I’ll take it out when I get to the bottom.”

“Then let’s get this over with before my balls freeze off”.

Once this was done he really needed a pint and Scotland could pay for it for once. It was her fucking Kelpie after all.

The journey downhill was far easier, even if they had to move quietly to not draw any unwanted attention and the ground underfoot was waterlogged and treacherous. But they made it to the bottom without either one of them sliding down the hill on their arse, which in Ireland’s mind was an achievement.

The moment the ground evened out Scotland dragged her bag off her back and dragged out the contents, a bridle the cross on the headband still visible in the darkness, and a gun which Scotland grimly loaded with silver bullets.

“You’re going to kill it?”

Scotland didn’t look up, “this one’s a killer” she said coolly, “it knows the rules and it chose to break them”. She tossed the bridle to Ireland, “but here, if we think it can learn to fucking behave”.

He was tempted to ask who it had killed but judging by the look on Scotland’s face he didn’t want to know. 

She didn’t look back as she stormed towards the Loch with the pistol hidden by the folds of her coat. Ireland moved carefully in behind her, keeping a careful eye on their back. The last thing they needed was to be snuck up on by a murderous Kelpie.

“Get out here!” Scotland called, her voice like a gun shot in the still night, and Ireland felt the magic in her words. It was a compulsion; she was giving the creature no way out it had to _obey_.

There was nothing for a long minute, just an eerie almost silence that made goosebumps rise on Irelands arms despite them being hidden in his warm sleeves.  All he could hear was the soft slap of the water hitting the shore and the sound of their breathing. Scotland shifted restlessly from foot to foot, her fists clenching on the desire to reach for her pistol.

Then Kelpie appeared.

If you didn’t look too closely it looked like a black horse. It wore no bridle or saddle and stood dripping wet by the side of the Loch. But there was no mortal horse born that had such a cold, awful intelligence in its eyes.

Ireland gripped the bridle so tight that it bit into his hand, although looking at the beast he highly doubted that they should use it. Scotland was right, this one was a killer. A century or two of hard labour would do nothing to change that.  

“You killed children,” Scotland said coldly, “you made yourself look like a Shetland fucking pony, lured them onto your back and drowned them. Do you deny it?”

He’d been right; he really didn’t want to know who it had killed. Ireland had seen too many awful things in his long life and he still felt sick with that revelation.

The Kelpie cocked its head, ears pricked. “No,” its voice was inhuman, smooth like the cool waves of water on the shore and darker than the Lochs depths, “I don’t deny it. But I wonder shouldn’t _you_ have been there to stop me?”

Scotland said nothing but her hand slipped closer to her hidden pistol.

“Isn’t that your job,” it continued mockingly “ _Scotland_?”

The sick pleasure in the creature’s voice had Ireland’s hands closing into fists and he fought the urge to beat the things head in. How dare it blame Scotland for its own actions? How could she possibly protect 5 million people all at once?

It was preying on Scotland’s weaknesses and worse it fucking _knew_ it.

“You shut your gob,” Ireland snapped, cutting off the Kelpie’s next round of venom before it could begin; then he wheeled on Scotland “and don’t you dare listen to it”.          

But Scotland had gone white; her wide eyes focused on the Kelpies dark ones. He thought he could see a rare glimmer of tears on her face and he cursed. Scotland would take this as a personal failure and her guilt would play right into the Kelpies hands.

It clearly knew that it wasn’t getting out of this and had decided to cause as much damage as it could on its way down.

Ireland was ready when it suddenly charged but Scotland wasn’t. She snapped out of her daze in the nick of time and attempted to dive out of the way. But the beast still caught her with its massive shoulder and sent her flying into the mud.

It also sent the pistol hurtling into the darkness. _At least it wasn’t thrown into the Loch_ , Ireland thought grimly as he ran in search of it, trusting that his sister could hold her own for a minute.

The Kelpie wheeled about, turning back too quickly for a thing of its size and set about trying to stomp Scotland into the earth. She was faster and smaller but the Kelpie was canny even for one of its kind and inevitably one huge hoof caught Scotland’s arm. The horrible snap of bone and Scotland’s answering howl cut the night air like a knife.

Ireland abandoned the search for the gun and its silver bullets to throw a burst of magical fire that forced the Kelpie back long enough for Scotland to struggle to her feet.

“Hurry it up,” she growled, her teeth gritted and arm held tightly against her ribs.

This time when the Kelpie turned, it went for Ireland. It probably considered Scotland wounded as she now was as less of a threat. Which was a mistake as she promptly knocked it off its feet with a huge gust of air. Scotland always _had_ been good at that spell.

It bought Ireland enough time to rake through the mud again and _finally_ close his fingers about the cold, wet surface of the pistol and drag it out of its muddy puddle. The Kelpie charged again, ears flat against its skull and unnaturally sharp teeth bared. Ireland stumbled back, raising the gun and fumbling to aim in the dark. 

But it was close, _too close_ and Ireland only managed to throw himself out of harm’s way at the last possible second. He could have sworn that he felt the beasts tail whip across his back as he scrambled out of the way.

Gasping, Ireland rolled over, spitting out mud as he tried desperately to get his bearings before the Kelpie came back to stomp him into dust. Shaking his fringe from his eyes Ireland peered through the dark, searching for the creature.

He quickly spotted it advancing on Scotland, the nation and Kelpie eyeing each other warily. Ireland wasn’t all that worried; Scotland was on her own ground after all and had a host of nasty tricks she hadn’t brought out yet.

But the Kelpie was distracted so Ireland took his chance, he levelled the gun trying to keep it steady and aim properly through the driving rain. He silently cursed the fact that magic could be so iffy when used against magical creatures that they’d been forced to use silver bullets. It would have been so much easier to roast the damn thing in some arcane fire.

The first shot rang out loud enough to send the birds screeching from the nearby trees but the Kelpie danced backwards and the bullet went wide. It let out an ugly shriek of rage that didn’t sound remotely equine and turned to bolt for the Loch. Not that it would be safe there.

But Scotland’s wrist flicked, something flashed and the creature fell to its knees with a bloodcurdling scream. This time the sound that escaped its throat sounded disturbingly _human_ like. 

“I doubt you can be rehabilitated,” Scotland said, standing over the Kelpie and ignoring the sheer amount of hate in its eyes, “seeing as you actually _planned_ on killing those bairns and went fucking miles to do it. I’d call that predetermined murder not hunting”.

She held out her good hand and Ireland pressed the pistol into it. This was her land and this was her duty after all. She’d not thank him for interfering.

“You’re a danger, to mortal and fae alike and I can’t justify the risk of letting you live,” Scotland’s voice was grim and colder than any bitter Highland winter.

She raised the pistol, aiming awkwardly with her injured arm clamped tight to her side and fired. The Kelpie crumpled, shrieking one last time, loud and shrill enough to make both nations wince, thrashed then finally lay still.

They watched together as its huge bulk dissolved into nothing more than turf and something that looked enough like jelly to put Ireland off eating the stuff. Scotland returned the pistol to Ireland without a word then bent to retrieve the familiar iron dagger lying in the Kelpie’s remains. She briefly attempted to rub it clean on the sparse grass and Ireland could’ve told her that it would take a hell of a lot more than that to get that muck off; he knew that from _experience_.

He’d clean it for her later; after all he’d given it to her in the first place. It would give him a chance to check that she’d kept it in good nick.   

“Well,” Ireland said bracingly, “that could have gone better.”

Scotland snorted, slumping down on yet another boulder. “You don’t say”. She remained staring fixedly at the ground as he approached; only peering up at him through her now unbound and totally drenched hair when he sat down next to her and squeezed her shoulder.

“Are you alright?”

She shifted uncomfortably, her face pinched with pain, “I’ve been better”.

“Arm?”

“Broken” she grunted “and I think my ribs are cracked as well”.

Ireland sighed, gently brushing the mud away from her white face. He only wished that she wasn’t trying to distract him with her physical injuries when in the long term what the Kelpie had said would probably hurt more. But this was _Scotland_ and trying to get her to talk about something she didn’t want to talk about was like squeezing water from a stone. He consoled himself with the thought that if she didn’t talk to him he’d call in the big guns, Wales could pry it out of her and if he failed then Ireland wouldn’t hesitate to call in France and his big, blue eyes.

“Let’s get you home” was all he said “I need light to set your arm right before it heals”.

Scotland grimaced, “I can’t wait. Your bedside manner is such a treat after all”.

“It’ll be an even better bedside manner if I find you’re lying to me and your ribs are broken not cracked”, Ireland responded casually.

She looked sheepishly at the ground. Ireland resisted the urge to go find a tree then bang his head off it.

“I swear I will call the air ambulance and let you deal with all the Doctors prodding at you.”

Ireland stood up, neatly slipped the bag off Scotland’s shoulders and carefully unloaded and replaced the pistol and after a quick search the abandoned bridle. He hefted the bag onto his own back then offered Scotland a hand up.

“Come along then grasshopper let’s get moving. You owe me pint.”

**Author's Note:**

> Note that I pieced the Kelpie together from a load of different legends I've heard since I was little, including something about them being able to be killed by a silver bullet. Not sure how common shooting errant Kelpies would be but oh well. 
> 
> Scotland's dagger was as Ireland says a gift from him. Its also iron which is not good for magical beasties.


End file.
